


Baptisma

by goodnightfern



Series: 2017 Supply Drops [12]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Commander Smegma, Featuring established VKaz and implied VQuiet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12491844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: Miller still needs help in the shower, but he sure doesn't need any from Ocelot.For Prompt 112: "Kaz is *really* grossnasty and he stinks so much it's hard to breathe in the signals room. Ocelot drags him/tricks him into the closest shower fully dressed and tries to get some of the funk out. It inevitably ends in angry sexytimes"considering i was in the middle of a twitter rant about commander miller's Rank when this wish was submitted i... felt i must be the one





	Baptisma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavvymetalqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/gifts).



Quiet takes out the last Skull sniper in what must have been a beautiful headshot and Snake is safe. Kaz uncurls himself from his chair, stretching just enough to let off a fresh wave of the scent that Ocelot has been silently enduring for hours now.

The nervous sweat has made it even worse than usual. Every time Snake goes out with Quiet the bitterness stews up a hot pot of jealous rancid body odor and it's been _ten hours_ since Ocelot joined Miller in the cramped, windowless room.

“Good work,” Kaz says, clipped, and it isn’t clear who he’s saying it to. “Try to get some rest, Snake.” He falls back into his chair. Shifts under the heavy wool of his coat. Completely fucks up his beret when he lowers it to dab some of the sweat off his face.

There’s silence on the radio for a while. Quiet’s hum is barely audible as they move to find a secure place. Some abandoned shack in the desert. Of course Snake pulls out his cigar, and there’s another distinct puffing sound when he passes it to Quiet. No one bothers telling him his mic is hot. Sometimes Snake just needs that channel open. A grounding, steady prescence in his ear.

“Hey,” Snake says suddenly. “I just saw a falling star.”

Kaz smiles. “Those are meteors, Snake. Not stars.”

“Did you make a wish?” Ocelot asks.

“Yes. I wished - “

“Don’t say it,” Kaz cuts in. “Won’t come true if you do.”

“Sorry,” Snake says. Another long drag of smoke. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kaz.”

The mic turns off. Kaz twitches a little. Ocelot doesn’t tell him not to worry. What he does do is lean back, take in a sniff disguised as a sigh, and say, “Suppose he’s calling it a night, then. How about you?”

“I’m staying here.”

“I’ve got it. Go take a shower. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Miller says, burrowing in his coat. It’s already hot in here. Ocelot doesn’t know how he isn’t melting by now.

“Miller, come on already.”

“Come on and what?”

“This entire room is rank enough to make me sick and you’re going to see Snake tomorrow. Go take a shower.”

Miller itches at his collar awkwardly. “The hell are you talking about? I took a shower yesterday.”

Right. It’s a big secret. Like Ocelot can’t differentiate between the chemical rank of deodorant and baby wipes and a man who has taken a shower. It’s been three weeks since Snake’s been home and no one but Snake is allowed to touch Miller’s precious broken body. He can brush all the talcum powder in his hair he wants - it only makes it worse.

“Miller. I can smell you. I smell you every single day I work with you, cooped up in this office with you for hours at a time. Just take a shower already."

Miller doesn’t have shit to say to that. He actually might be a bit red, but Miller has been coddling his insecurities for long enough. So he’s a chubby, greasy cripple. Ocelot’s seen a hell of a lot worse.

“Kind of missing half my damn body,” Miller finally grunts. “You try using one of those tiny showers without an arm and a leg, jackass.”

A custom shower would be so easy to install. In the full-sized, luxurious, and completely accessible bathroom that should be in his retrofitted bedroom directly behind the comms room. But no, it’d be a waste of money and besides, Commander Miller doesn’t need help in the shower. Let him split his head open in his own damn bathroom.

Ocelot pulls off both their headsets in a simultaneous and honestly pretty smooth gesture. Miller splutters but it’s fine, Ocelot has a portable radio, and if Miller will just come along -

“Just what the hell are you trying to do?”

“You’re going to take a shower if I have to drag you in myself.”

“Jesus, it’s not that bad.”

“You’re naturally disposed not to notice your own body odor. And the longer you spend smelling a certain smell, the less you respond. My brain, however, is not yet accustomed to the smell of rotting cheese caked in bad deodorant.” He sniffs. “What is that - Certain Dri? Not quite standard issue, Miller.”

Miller doesn’t have his crutch but he can still kick. He dings Ocelot’s shins, tries to slip around his ankle like he can still throw anybody. But Ocelot’s already got him in his closet bedroom, and the bathroom door is right there. It slides open automatically when he throws Miller at it.

“Like you aren’t one greasy son of a bitch yourself,” Miller whines, pulling himself up on the wall.

“Take off your clothes.” Ocelot drags him up. Pulls off his trench coat and wow, it really was holding all the stench in. He'll have to get it washed. Miller squirms but can't stop Ocelot from unbuttoning his jacket, untucking his shirt. Unbuckling his belt and throwing it to the floor before going for the pants -

Miller rasps out a scream. He twists out of Ocelot’s arm and falls to his hands and knees, panting.

Too much. Too fast. Ocelot sighs and crouches, waits to see if he’ll start mumbling in Russian or anything. When Miller is silent he raises a hesitant hand to his back. Miller stiffens, but he only strokes down his spine until he's soft and shuddering.

Fine. Miller can keep his shirt and pants. Ocelot slips his arm behind Miller’s shoulders, supporting him by the armpits, and Miller - wherever he is - lets him lead him inside the shower and turn on the water. The spray soaks them both, hits Ocelot in the eyes, but Miller might fall over again.

Miller just stands limp beneath the water. Makes no move to undress or wash. “Great work,” he says finally. “Got my clothes all wet.”

“Mine too.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

“I can wash myself, mom.”

“All right. Show me, then.”

Miller wobbles. His shirt sleeve has become unpinned, limp and sticking to him. His glasses are covered in droplets and fog.

Fine, then. If Miller doesn't want him here, he would have gone ahead and retrofitted this bathroom like Ocelot told him to a hundred times already. It's not even the first time he's ever had to bathe Miller - of course, those all never happened. Sighing, he looks around and finds nothing but a half-empty hotel sized bottle of the standard-issue body wash. It smells like menthol when Ocelot rubs it between his palms.

Miller jerks back from his hands. Nearly falls over. “Don’t you fucking touch -”

“I’m just going to wash your hair.” Ocelot spreads his soapy hands in a gesture of peace. Miller might be crying. It’s hard to tell. “Can you take off your glasses for me?”

“No.”

That’s okay. Miller doesn’t move when Ocelot reaches for his hair. It’s greasy, clumped together. He works the body wash in slowly. Lathers in gentle circles. Miller ducks his head for him. Lets him reach around to the back. Knead into the place where his skull meets his spine.

Miller takes off his glasses when it’s time to rinse. Opens the door just enough to lean out while he braces on Ocelot and put them aside. When he’s safely back under the spray their foreheads are close enough to touch, and soap is running down his stubble.

“Careful you don’t get it in your eyes,” Ocelot warns, hands at his hairline.

“Not like they can get any worse.”

There’s tangles in his hair Ocelot pulls his fingers through. Then he pulls Miller closer and rests his lips on his mouth, just for a moment.

“Ocelot.”

Ocelot kisses him again with his eyes open. The water doesn’t sting much.

“Ocelot, I told you. We’re not - I’m with Snake, dammit.”

“You, of all people. Concerned about fidelity?”

“Yes, you goddamn inhuman -”

“Snake and Quiet could be doing anything right now.”

Miller squints, chest heaving. “What the hell would you know about trust?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Ocelot sways his hips forward. Just enough to let Miller know how close they truly are. “Every time he goes with her, you sweat more than usual. You reek of anxiety. What are you so afraid of, Miller?”

“I’m afraid that she’s -”

“If she was a spy, we’d all be at the bottom of the ocean.”

“She’s -”

“If you’re that jealous, the least you could do is make an effort to keep him. Take a shower every once in a while.”

“God, shut up, just shut -” And Miller crashes their lips together. Open-mouthed and hungry and brutal. Yes. His prosthetic skids out under him and Ocelot grabs him by his ass. There’s more meat on it than the last time he had it in his hands. More to knead while he pulls him up and holds him close and grinds into his soaked, sticking trousers.

Ocelot has to take two steps back until he hits the wall. Slides to the slippery floor with Miller still on him. It’s work to get through his wet clothes, peel off his soaked boxers just enough to get Miller throbbing in his hand. He swipes up the buildup in his fingers, rinsing them off in the spray quick enough so that Miller won’t notice what he’s doing. Smooths down the nest at his crotch, cleaning as best as he can.

Miller swears. Chokes on his breath, wraps his arm around Ocelot’s neck and ruts into his fingers. Miller’s crushing him into the floor, alternating between sucking on his neck and raggedly panting in his ear.

Ocelot is perfectly willing to take care of himself, but Miller sits back and lets go for long enough to unzip him. That’s perfect, Miller can put his arm around him again so Ocelot can hold them both together slick and dripping and get them off just like this.

Miller bites his lip when he comes. Ocelot sighs and reaches for his shoulder where Miller’s gripping tight. He comes with Miller’s knuckles under his fingers. Rubs his thumb over his strained tendons.

It’s a while before they unstick. Ocelot turns off the water and helps Miller to his feet.

This time, he lets Ocelot strip off his clothes. Drape them around the room - stacking papers aside to make space on the desk, covering the chair, draping his shirt over the iron railing of the cot. He finds the little fan Miller keeps that he doesn’t use enough. He strips off the blankets before laying Miller down on his cot.

Miller lets him knead his love handles and suck on his collarbone for a few minutes before shoving him off. Doesn’t stop him from massaging his sore left hand until he passes out. He snuffles when he snores. Sounds like DD when he caught some cold as a pup.

The light on his portable starts blinking. Ocelot goes back to the signals room to answer.

“Ocelot?”

“Yes, Boss.”

He’s been smoking for a while. His sigh is static. “Is Kaz still awake?”

“No.”

“Good.” Snake is silent for a moment. “Saw another falling star.”

“Meteor, Boss.”

“Meteor. Right. Made another wish.”

“You can tell me. I’m not superstitious.”

“I wished Kaz would learn to take care of himself. Get some rest, for once.” Snake sighs again. Puffs his cigar. “Sometimes… I worry.”

“You know me, Snake. I take good enough care of him when you’re gone.”

“Thanks, Ocelot.”

“Always, Boss.”


End file.
